


i have a love for you (the kind that burns too quickly)

by procrastinatingbookworm



Series: Hello, I'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same? [17]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Chronic Pain, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Feelings Realization, Hiding Medical Issues, M/M, Nesting, Other, Pre-Relationship, Sibling Bonding, bonding through repurposed violence, found family speedrun shared trauma percent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: Quirrel does his best to be helpful, and has a revelation in the process.
Relationships: Hornet & Quirrel (Hollow Knight), Quirrel/Tiso (Hollow Knight), The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Quirrel, The Knight & Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Series: Hello, I'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same? [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957039
Comments: 26
Kudos: 68





	i have a love for you (the kind that burns too quickly)

**Author's Note:**

> Prior fic, in case anyone skipped it: everyone talked about their feelings, and decided the best remedy for passive suicidal ideation was nesting.

The house isn’t big enough for five.

It’s barely big enough just for Holly, who takes up an entire corner of the room, even when Hornet—with Quirrel’s help—arranges them to be less in the way, their limbs folded up and their head propped up on a stack of pillows.

“You’re doing well,” Quirrel makes sure to tell them. When they glance up, Quirrel crouches down, cupping their face and petting the base of their horn with his thumb. “How are you feeling?”

Holly doesn’t answer, but they lean their cheek into his hand. It’s not quite clear, but the minute movements of their head might be their attempt to nuzzle him.

When Holly’s eyes droop half-shut, like Ghost’s do when they’re falling asleep, Quirrel eases their head back down onto the pillows and stands up.

He tries to, at least. His knees buckle halfway through, and even leaning on the wall, he’s shaking when he straightens.

When Quirrel turns around, Hornet is giving him a piercing look.

“What is it?” Quirrel asks, disarmed by her intensity.

“You should stay here,” she replies, idly spinning her needle in two of her left hands, the thread dancing around her wrists but never tangling. She doesn’t even glance at it. “Ghost and I can gather supplies on our own.”

“You and I have done the same amount of work,” Quirrel says, watching Hornet’s nail instead of her face. “If you’re going, I am as well.”

There’s no question, at least, of sending Tiso, or of sending Ghost on their own. Hornet may be a stranger of varying degrees to all of them, but she knows as well as Quirrel does who's at the most risk. 

Quirrel wishes he could tell her that he’s grateful for her, that he couldn’t do this without her, but the words stick in his throat.

Hornet’s needle spins.

“Fine,” she says, one set of fingers clamping down on the hilt, the other deftly re-winding the thread. “But don’t slow us down.”

Quirrel nods firmly. As far as he can tell, that brusqueness is Hornet’s version of concern, and he can’t deny the warmth that rises in his chest at the thought.

Tiso is sitting by the corner of the room nearest the door, weaving threads of silk around his fingers. It isn’t how Hornet weaves—far fewer appendages involved, for one thing. 

It’s slightly mesmerizing, watching him wind the thread into patterns with just the fingers and thumb of his hand.

“I have to do  _ something _ ,” Tiso says, when he catches Quirrel looking at him. “Hornet was nice enough to lend me enough silk to help with the nesting.”

Quirrel’s getting worried about how much silk Hornet is unspooling without seeming to do anything to recover her soul, but that’s neither here nor there.

Tiso reaches a stopping point with his weaving and curls his fingers around it, leaning up to kiss Quirrel, tenderly, easily, as if they’ve known each other for years and not days.

Leaning down is a mistake. Quirrel can feel his plates scraping together all up the length of his back as he straightens up again, and for a moment he’s certain that his legs are going to buckle, but he manages it.

“Be safe,” Tiso says, clicking his mandibles. 

He glances over to where Hornet is standing, holding the doorframe with two hands and leaning out of it, probably talking to or looking for Ghost.

“Take care of her, Q.” he says, more quietly.

“Of course,” Quirrel nods. He’d kiss him again, but his legs are trembling already—he doesn’t want to risk the effort. “I love you.”

Tiso ducks his head, antennae flicking, and Quirrel has to cover his face for a moment.

“I love you,” Tiso says, and then something in Wyrmtongue that makes Quirrel feel fluttery.

“Quirrel,” Hornet says, and Quirrel snaps to attention at the tone of her voice.

Tiso mutters something under his breath that sounds like  _ whipped _ , and Quirrel is still smiling when he leaves the house, only barely remembering to pick up his nail as he goes.

Ghost is jumping up and down outside the house, flapping their wings at the peak of the upward motion to gain more height, then dropping back to the ground with an audible thump, only to jet themselves upward again. It doesn’t seem to be for any reason other than their own amusement.

Quirrel wants to wrap them in his arms and never let go.

He nearly chokes when Hornet throws her needle at them.

There’s an audible  _ clink _ of nails colliding, and a rush of soul around each of them. Ghost stops jumping, tucking their nail back into its sheath on their back.

“ _ Why _ ,” Quirrel whines, trying to get his breath back, one hand fluttering over his chest as though he can stop his heart from pounding. “did you  _ do _ that?”

“Ah,” Hornet says. “My apologies. Ghost and I decided that it would be best to restore our soul from each other, given that the creatures of Hallownest are no longer infected, and it would be in… poor taste, to kill them for soul, and Vengeflies and Crawlids only have so much to give.”

Quirrel nods in understanding, still trying to choke down his terror.

_ Sorry, _ Ghost signs.

Quirrel turns his nail in his hand—far less gracefully than Hornet spins hers, but with the same idle thought behind it. “Where are we heading?”

“Greenpath,” Hornet says. “It has the most plant life.”

Abruptly, Ghost starts jumping again, not even stopping when Hornet points her needle at them—playfully, Quirrel realizes. Not threateningly.

_ She doesn’t want to hurt them, _ Quirrel reminds himself, gripping at his kerchief until his fingers ache.  _ She loves them as much as I do. _

Oh.

Quirrel looks at Ghost, just in time to see them sign  _ meet you there _ , raise the hilt of their Dream Nail, and disappear in a flash of gold light.

“Apparently they have some business to take care of,” Hornet says, woodenly, half-turning toward Quirrel. “What’s wrong?”

_ Nothing _ , Quirrel means to say, but what comes out is “I love them.”

Hornet laughs, bright and melodic. “I’m sure you do, Quirrel. Let’s go.”


End file.
